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coHRiGwr BEPOsn; 



SONGS OF MANY 
MOODS 

BY 

ROBERT T. DUNCAN 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

. THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1919, by Robert T. Duncan 
All Rights Reserved 



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MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 

TBJI GORHJLM PlUBSS, BOSTON, U. S. A. 



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INTRODUCTORY 

February 2, 19 19 
My dear Mr. Duncan: — 

"Poetry is the music of thought, conveyed 
to us in the music of language" — Chatfield. 

"Poetry is the record of the best and happiest 
moments of the happiest and best minds" — 
Shelley. 

In returning to you the manuscript of some of 
the productions of your facile pen which you were 
kind enough to allow me to peruse, I first want to 
assure you of my deep gratitude for the pleasure 
that has come to me through your kindly action, but 
I cannot allow myself to stop at that. 

The vision comes before me of a war worn world 
where men's hearts have become hardened by the 
prejudice and rancor that must necessarily result 
from the conditions of the past few years, and what 
is the remedy that will prove to be a healing balm? 

To my mind the only cure is the literature of 
music and song. I beg of you, nay I implore that 
you allow the verses which I have selfishly reveled 
in to become published and thereby serve their true, 
God given, purpose in the world. "If music be the 
food of love, play on." 

Again thanking you, and believe me 
Faithfully yours, 

ROBT. P. FAIRBAIRN. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Christmas Bells 9 

They Are Coming IO 

When the Battle Flags Are Furled 1 1 

"Tin Soldiers" 12 

In Memoriam 13 

"Old Glory" 14 

The Dying Soldier 15 

Do You Remember Still 16 

The Faith of France 17 

Across the Sea 18 

It's All the Same 19 

In Memoriam 21 

Sleep, Baby, Sleep 22 

Land of Lakes 23 

Judge Not 24 

Parting 25 

Imagery 26 

The Man 27 

To Edgar A. Guest 28 

Craibstone 29 

To J. S. D 30 

The Homeland 31 

The Song of the Hobo 32 

Bucksburn 33 

The Recluse of Fond du Lac 34 

The Gypsy Blood 36 

Just Eighteen Months Ago 37 

The Call of Nature 39 

Church Bells 40 

Life's Melody 41 



Contents 



Page 

They Endure 42 

I Envy None 43 

Coming and Going of Day 44 

The Shadows 45 

Spring 46 

The Robin 47 

The Little Voices 48 

A Royal Romance 49 

The Loveland 5° 

Anniversary of Burns 5° 

Life 52 

Poland 53 

The Creed 54 

La Follette 55 

To "The Ettrick Lintie" 57 

Robert Burns 58 

The Soutar 59 

The Cross 60 

An Evening Walk 61 

The Evening Star 62 

Signs of Spring 63 

April 64 



SONGS OF MANY MOODS 



CHRISTMAS BELLS 
1916 

Ring out, ye bells with merry chimes, 

As ye have done in former years, 
Though never in the olden times 

To lands so drenched in blood and tears. 

Ring gently, bells, for sorrow's tear 

The mourners' hollow eyes will fill, 
As bending o'er the soldier's bier 

They whisper low, "Peace and good will". 

"Peace and good will"! O! world at strife, 

And was it futile and in vain 
That One should give His noble life 

To save Mankind from such a pain. 

Ring bravely on. The world's brow 

Is furious with lust to kill, 
And more than ever utter now 

Heaven's great command of "Peace, be still". 

Ring on. The times are waxing late 

And in a world of woe and pain 
The nations leap in frenzied hate 

To crucify their Christ again. 



Songs of Many Moods 



THEY ARE COMING 

They are coming, Woodrow Wilson, 
From Columbia's farthest shore, 

To defend their country's honor 
As their fathers did before. 

For they placed their trust upon you, 
"Peace with honor" was your cry; 

Now you, say "Peace means dishonor", 
And they know you do not lie. 

There are those who would defame you, 

Vultures in the eagle's nest ; 
Plotting Columbia's destruction 

While they fatten at her breast. 

But the straight-lipped and the clear-eyed 
Grasp the gun and draw the blade ; 

Not in vain for such as these 
Was the Declaration made. 

Freedom's heritage they cherish 
From the cradle to the grave, 

And they vow the starry banner 
Over them for aye shall wave. 

So they answer, Woodrow Wilson, 
And their shout becomes a roar 

Ringing from the far Pacific 
To the broad Atlantic's shore. 
10 



Songs of Many Moods 



WHEN THE BATTLE FLAGS ARE 
FURLED 

When the war-drums are silent, and the battle- 
flags are furled; 

Will there dawn a greater glory o'er the nations 
of the world; 

Will wrong give place to right and evil be subdued, 
And will the years that follow be pregnant with 
good? 

We know the nations hearkened, and they an- 
swered from afar 

When the war-drums started beating and their 
kings rode out to war 

And we know they died like heroes amid scenes of 

bloody woe, 
And they never stayed to reason why their blood 

should flow. 

But tell us, has their sacrifice been offered up in 

vain? 
Have they lost all they had to lose when there was 

nought to gain? 

We know they fought for honor's cause, and love 

of country too, 
And when their time had come they died as brave 

men do. 

We know 'twas for their high ideals they let their 
blood be shed, i 

We know all this and honor them the army of the 
dead; 

II 



Songs of Many Moods 



But tell us, prophet, tell us, will there be a better 
world 

When the war-drums are silent, and the battle- 
flags are furled. 

"TIN SOLDIERS" 

"Tin Soldiers" you used to call them, 

As they marched with the sweat on their brow ; 

And you stood at ease on the sidewalk, 
But what do you call them now? 

You mocked and jibed at them daily 
As they marched along with their band ; 

Do you mock as they march just as gaily 
On their way to "No Man's Land?" 

Do you think of the names you called them? 

Do you think of the men they are? 
As you stand on the corner and watch them 

Swing on their way to war. 

Leaving sweethearts and mothers, 

And all that they love behind, 
Yes, and a million others 

For the common cause of mankind. 

They are marching away and I wonder 

When they're back from the war's red woe, 

Will you call them again "Tin Soldiers" 
As you did some months ago. 
12 



Songs of Many Moods 



IN MEMORIAM 

J. S. D. 

Killed in action. October 21st, 191 6 

Fond Mem'ry whispers to my ears 

The songs you used to sing; 
And from the distant, bygone years 

Sweet recollections spring. 

We were comrades, more than brothers, 
And from Mem'ry 's page I turn 

Sad at heart, though there are others 
With a dearer tie to mourn. 

Years we shared I well remember 

But I cannot realize 
That the last, eternal slumber 

Has forever closed your eyes. 

Christmas bells may soon resound 
The peace and good-will unto men; 

But dear comrade, you have found 
The peace that passeth human ken. 

Soldier! You have done your duty, 

None can ever sneer and say 
That the smiles of wealth or beauty 

Lured you from its path to stray. 



13 



Songs of Many Moods 



"OLD GLORY" 

Waft it proudly, O ye breezes! 

Until it's f oemen hide their eyes ; 
Until Sahara's desert freezes; 

Until the hope of Heaven dies. 

So caress it, love it, nurse it, 

It is free as ye are free, 
Only serfs and tyrants curse it, 

Ensign of our liberty. 

O ye breezes, never fail it, 
Keep it flying, aye unfurled; 

In the east the nations hail it 
As the "glory" of the world. 

And we look upon its splendor 
From beneath its ample folds, 

And our hearts are thrilled and tender 
By the story that it holds. 

Hail! "Old Glory" we salute thee, 
Children gathered from all lands ; 

Motives base shall none impute thee, 
Lo! The world understands. 



14 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE DYING SOLDIER 

Comrade, raise my head still higher 
For my hour is almost done, 

And I want to see "Old Glory" 
Waving in the morning sun. 

There! that's better, I can see it, 
Flaming stripes and virgin bars ; 

Lincoln's flag and mine, I love it, 
Heaven's azure, Freedom's stars. 

I have seen it floating proudly 

Over the old town at home; 
I have seen its colors blending 

With the ocean's wave and foam. 

Oh, I loved it and revered it 

In the peaceful days of yore, 
Now today I love it better 

Than I ever did before. 

For I've offered at its altars 

All the fleeting life I've led, 
To maintain its spotless whiteness, 

And the glory of its red. 

Comrade, see it waving grandly 
As the morning breezes blow; 

Rising heavenward, pointing westward, 
Pointing homeward — and I go. 
15 



Songs of Many Moods 



DO YOU REMEMBER STILL 

Do you remember still, the swift-winged hours 
That made for us the distant, happy past; 

The silent woods, the drooping flowers 
That raised their faces as we passed? 

The setting sun that tinged the hill-bound west 

With coloring of amethyst and gold, 
The valley lying wrapt in peaceful rest, 

The curlew crying o'er the lonely wold. 

The peat-reek rising in the still, night air, 
The murmuring of the little mountain stream, 

The stars that shone above like jewels rare, 
The crescent moon with its pale, silv'ry beam. 

The breeze that hailed us with a passing sigh, 
The nights that wrapt us in their dreamy spell, 

We saw the hours go swift and swifter by, 
And let them vanish with a light farewell. 

Do you remember still, and oft recall 

The bygone days that were too sweet to last? 

And do you often dream about it all 
While Memory rebuilds the ruined past. 



16 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE FAITH OF FRANCE 

How brightly they raise their heads 

And bloom beneath the sun, 
And ere their fragile beauty fades 

Their little task is done, 

The flowers of France. 

How sweetly do they sing their song 

And fear no earthly thing, 
They do their share to right a wrong, 

God sent them there to sing, 
The birds of France, 

They march to war and sing, and sing, 

The songs of Liberty, 
And dying, still the echoes ring 

Afar across the sea; 

The sons of France. 

Can Freedom die? And is it vain 
The sacrifice of countless lives? 

Shall Mankind bear a slavish chain? 
Nay! While upon the earth survives 
The faith of France. 



17 



Songs of Many Moods 



ACROSS THE SEA 

'Tis strange, these silver stars that gleam 

Upon the peaceful sea; 
Like gems set in a crown of dream, 

Look down on Picardy. 

The moon that watches while you sleep 

In calm security, 
Its nightly watch doth also keep 

O'er graves of Picardy. 

And Lo! the East wind's fragrant breath 
That wakes the slumbering sea, 

Has whispered o'er the fields of death 
On distant Picardy. 



18 



Songs of Many Moods 



IT'S ALL THE SAME 

The silent stars that shine so bright 
Above our social mirth tonight, 
Tomorrow may look down upon 
A cold, gray monumental stone, 
Where writ in gilt upon the same 
The passerby may read our name; 
We sojourn here a fleeting space 
While others wait to take our place; 
Life's like an automatic chime 
Struck by the swinging bell of time, 
And we may make it grave or gay; 
So let us laugh throughout the day, 
Not sigh its passing hours away; 
The grave will swallow up our tears, 
Our laughter lives a thousand years. 
A smile greets success, not a wail, 
So why not laugh even when we fail? 
Failure's the rugged path we tread 
To reach the heights far overhead ; 
'Tis vain to speak of luck or fate, 
That's but what we ourselves create, 
There is no fate, there is no luck, 
So let us mobilize our pluck 
And roll our sleeves up with a smile 
To make even failure worth the while. 
We've each our place beneath the sun 
And when our working day is done 
We'll hit the last, long, lonely pike 
Where all of us must fare alike; 
19 



Songs of Many Moods 



It matters little what we are 
Whether we ride in cushioned car 
Or on the dusty road we fare 
In shoes that sadly lack repair; 
For to us all alike are free — 
The sunshine and the flowering tree, 
The glory of the stars' pale beam, . 
The music of the rippling stream, 

All things that make the world gay 
And cheer the traveller on his way; 
There's joy here if we'll but take it, 
And life is simply what we make it, 
So let's cut out the whine and sob — 
The "Big Boss" needs us on the job. 



20 



Songs of Many Moods 



IN MEMORIAM 
"Sonny" 

No more we'll hear the little feet 

Go pattering across the floor; 
The treble voice, the laughter sweet 

We'll hear no more. 

The skies of Spring will seem more gray, 
The wind will have a sadder tone, 

The birds will seem to sing less gay 
Since he is gone. 

Our little circle now will know 
An empty place whene'er we meet, 

And pause at times with voices low 
To listen for his eager feet. 

Time heals all wounds, but none can fill 
The place he held in every heart, 

And well we know we'll miss him still 
Whate'er the coming years impart. 

A mother's heart will throb in pain, 

Her eyes with yearning thoughts will dim; 

A father's mind will see again 

The future he had planned for him. 

He was so young, so quick to charm, 
It did not seem that he could die. 

We see again the cold, still form, 
And wonder— WHY. 

21 



Songs of Many Moods 



SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP 

Sleepy eyes are closing, baby is reposing 

Safe in the ship that's bound for Wonderland; 
Loving eyes look down as every baby frown 
Is chased away from baby brows by an angel hand. 
The fairies come with dreams, 
And the Guardian Angel keeps 
A vigil o'er the little cot 
Where baby sleeps. 

Sleep, baby, sleep, while the shadows creep 

Around the little cot where you lie; 
Sleep, baby, sleep, the stars begin to peep 
Like the lights of Heaven in the sky. 
The fairy ship sets sail 
Adown the Milky Way; 
O! What wonderful sights you'll see 
Before the break of day. 



22 



Songs of Many Moods 



LAND OF LAKES 

Wisconsin, Land of crystal lakes 
Where Youth's gay laughter ever wakes 
The echoes as the paddle breaks 

The silver sheen; 
How generous 'mongst your many lakes 

Has Nature been. 

Far from the ceaseless care of life, 
Far from the town's harassing strife 
Where factory fumes and germs are rife 

We hie away, 
Perhaps with sweetheart or with wife 

To spend a day. 

To spend a day amid your scenes 
Where Nature in her beauty preens, 
And where the old log cabin leans 

A little west; 
There our poor, weary soul gleans 

Content and rest. 

The lake's a welcome, glorious sight, 
Though viewed in the sunshine bright 
Or as beneath the moon at night 

We float along, 
Raising our voices free and light 

In merry song. 



23 



Songs of Many Moods 



L'envoi 

We've had our days of laughter 

And we've had our nights of song, 
And we've had our hours of sorrow and of pain; 
And though we drift afar, Wisconsin, 

Yet we shall not linger long, 
For your smiling lakes will lure us back again. 

JUDGE NOT 

Judge not, lest in judging a brother, 

Ye fill a measure of pain, 
Which from the hand of another 

May be meted to you again. 

Judge not in your folly and blindness 
Judge not in a self-righteous way, 

Lest a judgment lacking in kindness 
May haunt you night and day. 

Judge not, but temper your sentence 

With mercy, be patient long, 
Remembering a moment's repentance 

For a life of sin may atone. 



34 



Songs of Many Moods 



PARTING. 

Bring your lips a little nearer 
They invite a parting kiss; 

There can be no joy dearer 
On this earth than this. 

Lo! the moon looks on our parting 
With the smile of bygone years; 

Like the smile of maiden starting 
Through the dimness of her tears, 

He has looked on love and laughter 
From the world's creation on; 

And he'll smile on them long after 
We are dead and gone. 



The wedding bells out yonder ring, 
The love-birds at the lattice sing, 

But what avail they to avert 
The days that desolation bring. 

The hour of life is never long, 

The cry of woe breaks short the song; 
The darkness of approaching night 

Will hide the Right and Wrong. 

The violets fade, the roses bloom, 

And Autumn gives the Winter room; 

And Wealth and Poverty alike 
Must one day share a narrow tomb. 
25 



Songs of Many Moods 



But why should we philosophize, 
The night is young and in your eyes 

I see reflected back to mine 
The tender light that never dies. 

IMAGERY 

They have built their images through the ages 
of wood and of stone; they have studded them with 
precious gems and decorated them with rare 
metals; they have bowed down and worshipped the 
work of their own hands. They have dreamed 
their dreams, and their dreams became imagery 
which they worshipped. 

Down through the ages they have dreamt and built 
and only the memory remains. The hearts of men 
dream new dreams and build new images after 
their own fashion; so they build; so they worship; 
and the Spoiler laughs at their toil. 



26 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE MAN 

Here is a man whose hand is worth the clasping 

In friendship's firm grip; 
Whose heart is free from all rapacious grasping; 

Who scorns base Falsehood's lying lip. 

Whose hand is ever ready with its aid 
For sister or for brother who may fall, 

Nor with his tongue can readily upbraid, 
But ever generous is he unto all. 

His eyes are mild as those of ancient sage, 
Well versed in all the various ways of men; 

But woe to him who wakes his honest rage 
He beards the lion in his native den. 

This man I'd have before all for my friend, 
Chosen from out a noble, faithful few ; 

Him would I trust unto life's utter end, 
Clean-souled and ever true. 



27 



Songs of Many Moods 



To EDGAR A. GUEST 

When the days were growing dreary 
And our hearts were turning weary 

Eddie Guest; 
Who stepped smiling, singing in, 
Urged us once more to begin, 
Helped half -beaten men to win? 

Eddie Guest. 

When the days were cursed with sameness, 
And black thoughts came that are nameless, 

Eddie Guest 

And our souls grew heavy-burdened, it was then 
You would charm us with the magic of your pen 
You're the poet of working men 

Eddie Guest. 

You have borne with us our sorrows 
Seen the dawn of bright tomorrows, 

Eddie Guest. 
You have felt the grief that sears; 
Shared with us our joys and fears; 
Travelled with us down the years, 



O! the head that wears a crown 
May in terror lay it down, 

But the laurel crown you wear 
Will not fill your heart with care, 
For our love has placed it there 



28 



Eddie Guest. 



Eddie Guest, 



Eddie Guest. 



Songs of Many Moods 



CRAIBSTONE 

Age-worn Craibstone! here I roam 
Amongst thy dim-lit aisles of green, 

Where Nature in her wildest garb 
Reigns o'er each sylvan scene. 

I stand where Man's despoiling hand 

Has now become unknown; 
And all the brightest gems of flowers 

In beauty wild have grown. 

'Tis here the thrush sings undisturbed 

Amongst the lilac trees; 
And here the tiger lilies tall 

Sway gently in the breeze. 

The lofty halls, O Craibstone 
Where moved the merry train, 

Are silent and deserted now 
And nigh unknown to men. 

The shady walks that knew so well 

The tread of lovers gay, 
Are choked with weeds and fallen leaves 

That moulder and decay. 



29 



Songs of Many Moods 



TO J. S. D. 

On dark Bennachie the hunter still findeth 
His chase is rewarded with buck or with roe; 
And like silver beneath it the Gadie still windeth 
Through valleys and woods where tall foxgloves 

grow, 
And the sun's last beam lingers, reluctant to go. 

And I wonder Jim, as the light grows dim, 

While you sit in the firelight's glow, 

Do your thoughts go back o'er each beaten track 

Where we wandered long ago. 

How often on Bennachie's height did we wander, 
How often we played in the valley below, 
And Jim, will we ever find scenes that are grander 
Than those of the past that we used to know, 
I doubt it, old friend, wherever we go. 

Then here's to thee, and to far Bennachie, 

And here's to the days of the past; 

'Tis pleasant to dream of woodland and stream, 

And the days that sped too fast. 



30 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE HOMELAND 

I am sitting tonight idly dreaming 

In the night so soft and sweet; 
While the stars above me are gleaming, 

And crickets chirp at my feet; 
I can see the fireflies winging 

Like lamps round the pile of logs, 
While the breeze from the marsh is bringing 

The itinerant song of bull-frogs. 

But I'm blind to the beauties around me, 

The softness, the silence, the stars, 
For the spell of my dream has bound me 

In the land of heather-clad scaurs. 
And I'm back to the scenes where I wandered 

So careless and happy and free; 
By streams that leisurely meandered 

Through valleys and woods to the sea. 

Back again to the old scenes I go 

And in fancy once more gaze upon 
The familiar places I know 

By the beautiful valley of Don. 
But once more the present will hide thee, 

Oh, dear days that used to be, 
And 'mongst the hemlocks beside me 

The woodpecker taps on his tree. 

Ah, Scotia! thy youngest sons wander, 
In far distant parts of the earth; 

But they never find scenes that are grander 
Than those in the land of their birth. 
31 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE SONG OF THE HOBO 

I'm sick of it, boys, with its din and noise, 

It aint just the place for me; 
The city's all right for a single night 

If you make it a downright spree. 

But to make it home when one's free to roam 

By river, and forest, and lake; 
Let him do it who can, but it ain't for the man 

Who lives for living's sake. 

The town is for him whose eyes will grow dim 

O'er the ledger's crowded lines; 
He can never dream of the spell of a stream, 

Or the campfire 'neath the pines. 

Yes! the prairie is the place for me 

With its trackless miles and miles; 
Where I'll draw my breath without fear of death 

From the crazy automobiles. 

Then farewell the lights and welcome the nights 
With their vastness and silence and stars; 

And my heart will not yearn for the money they 
earn, 
Who work behind city bars. 



32 



Songs of Many Moods 



BUCKSBURN 

Dear unto me each thought of thee, 

O village far away; 
Where near thee rise piled to the skies 

Thy granite quarries gray. 
Oft when the evening shadows fall, 

And from my work once more I turn, 
Some scene around me will recall 

The Memory of thee, Bucksburn. 

The wooden glen, or Persley Den 

Near to the winding Don, 
Will still be dear as year by year 

Time passeth swiftly on; 
And ever round about me here 

The colors gay that now adorn 
The woods and valleys lying near, 

Remind me of your scenes Bucksburn. 

O! murmuring stream, when will the gleam 

Upon thy breast at evening's close, 
Attract my eye as o'er the sky 

The sun's last, mellow radiance glows. 
You knew my youthful dreams and hope, 

And oft in memory I'll return 
To wander o'er Ben Brimmond's slope, 

And idly dream near thee Bucksburn. 



33 



Songs of Many Moods 



C. A. 

She sleeps, and on her pallid brow 

Peace and contentment rest; 
And those who weep submissive bow 

To God's decree, — He knoweth best. 

Even as a lily, scarce in bloom, 

Is broken by the passing wind, 
Death took her and a shade of gloom 

Enveloped those she left behind. 

They mourn now that Death has wrought 

The loss to them of one so fair; 
But they take comfort from the thought 

Of one more soul to greet them there. 

THE RECLUSE OF FOND DU LAC 

There's an old-time cabin on Fond du Lac's shore, 

With the Morning Glory clinging around its bat- 
tered door; 

It has a pretty garden kept by a careful hand 

That stretches down to where the lake ripples o'er 
the sand. 

An Englishman owns all the land for acres around 
here, 

But he doesn't cultivate enough to keep himself 
in beer. 

Some folks say he's consumptive, and that's a story 
goes, 

But what his trouble really is, I guess there's no 
one knows 

34 



Songs of Many Moods 



He lives a hermit's lonely life, hunts, or fishes in 

the lake, 
And grows a little corn and wheat for occupation's 

sake; 
Of money he has plenty for he never gets in debt — 
I think there's something on his mind he wishes 

to forget. 
One day about a month ago I caught a glimpse of 

him, 
Striding through the forest and his face was set 

and grim; 
He seemed to me the sort of man who'd had his 

share of pain, 
As if life to him was empty and void of loss or gain ; 
A woman? Well, 'tis incomplete this sad old life 

of ours 
Unless it be a woman claims most of its pleasant 

hours. 

* * * 

The moon is rising over the woods, and the lake is 

all athrill 
But the cabin door swings open, and all around is 

still; 
For the Englishman has found the peace he came 

to find; — 
His weary soul has fled the world and left but clay 

behind ; 
'Twas the Brady boys found him, lying there at 

rest 
With a pretty woman's portrait upturned on his 

breast. 

• • * 



35 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE GYPSY BLOOD 

Have you seen the cattle moving o'er the boundless 
prairie, 
When the first gray light of dawn is in the sky? 
Have you seen the horns tossing when a herd of 
cattle's crossing 
The muddy creek that's almost running dry? 

Have you known the lazy languor as the sun rose 
high at noon, 
And you lay at ease beside the singing stream? 
Have you seen the lake ashimmer with the silver of 
the moon, 
And the silent stars above you all agleam? 

Have you seen the campflre glowing in the dark- 
ness of the woods 
Have you ever sat and watched your bannock 
bake? 
And with the setting sun behind, you leisurely have 
dined, 
On the fish that you have taken from the lake. 

Have you left the noisy town and answered to the 
call 
Of the lonely wilds forever beckoning on? 
'Tis there your heart is singing and you're part of 
it all, 
Silent, starry night and flaming dawn. 

36 



Songs of Many Moods 



'Tis the gypsy blood that's in you, the restless, 
roving strain, 

That makes the lonely life seem good to you; 
And far from other men you are only happy when 

The scenes around are wild and new. 

JUST EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO 

My little corn cob 's alight, 

And in this land of snow 
I'm thinking of a summer night 

Just eighteen months ago. 

That night a mellow glory bathed 

The woodland and the wold; 
The distant hills were dimly swathed 

In fairy veils of gold. 

There's a mystic "something" in that hour 

Where dark and daylight meet, 
The evening breathes of leaf and flower 

Refreshed and dewy sweet. 

We knew its soft and dreamy spell 

As in the woods we lay; 
The shadows round us longer fell, 

And daylight fled away. 

Then one by one the stars appeared 

Like jewels in the night; 
And soon the darkening shades were seared 

By Luna's silver light. 
37 



Songs of Many Moods 



That night heart words were softly formed 
That never reached the tongue; 

And veins that night were gently warmed, 
And pulsing soul strings wrung. 

'Tis long ago, but here tonight 

I feel the same old spell; 
I see her eyes all dimly bright 

With thoughts no tongue can tell. 

O! Vision Maiden, dim and far, 

In this land so drear and lone, 
I see you ever as a star 

Receding with the dawn. 

Ah, summer glory, with your words unspoken, 
Sweet the story Memory tells . . . 

Hark! How the solitude is broken 
By the silver-tongued sleigh-bells. 



38 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE CALL OF NATURE 

The shadow waves are rolling o'er the golden seas 
of wheat; 

And the drowsy bees are humming in the swelter- 
ing summer heat ; 

The great, vast wild is waking, and the Nature 
voices call, 

And my yearning heart is aching to be there 
amongst it all. 

Where the whip-poor-will is calling, where the 

shy wood violet nods; 
In the forest's leafy shadows, the trysting place of 

gods; 
When the dew-drops gleam like pearls o'er Nature's 

flowery lawn, 
And the fairy heat haze curls from the earth at 

early dawn. 

From dawn 'til dusking sunset when the crickets 

sing their song, 
In the land of starry silence, far away from sin 

and wrong; 
I can hear the "Little Voices", they are calling me 

I know, 
To where Nature's soul rejoices, they are calling 

— and I'll go. 



39 



Songs of Many Moods 



CHURCH BELLS 

They are telling a story, the bells, 
As they did in a bygone day, 
Solemn sometimes, sometimes gay, 

Ringing sweetly over the dells 
Of a land far away. 

They tell me a tale of joy, 
Of sorrow and bitter woe; 
Then whispering low 

They tell of a wayward boy 
And the way he chose to go. 

They tell of a waiting mother 

With hair aturning gray, 

Sighing day by day, 
With the sister and the brother 

Of the boy far away. 

They tell of a gray, dim gloaming, 
Of an evening sweet with rain; 
Of a longing heart losing its pain, 

And the boy that has been roaming 
Returning home again. 

Ring out bells, to a hundred homes, 
To the city and the range; 
Your chimes may change, 

But to the one who roams 
They are never strange. 
40 



Songs of Many Moods 



LIFE'S MELODY 

Play it lightly, play it sprightly, 

With a hundred merry twirls; 
Fast and sweet as the tripping feet 

Of the dancing girls. 

That will do for childish pleasure, fleeting treasure 

That is like a summer day; 
Scarcely ever realized, or prized 

E'er it flits away. 

Now tenderly play, half grave half gay, 

Love has come to stay awhile, 
It 's but a morning flower, an evening hour, 

And eyes a-smile. 

It does not linger long, the song 

Ends in a sigh; 
The wilted flower dies, the hour flies 

In a whispered good-by. 

Softly and pensively play, the day 

Draws near its close; 
Over the near, near west, golden rest 

Glimmers and glows. 

This is the evening of life, the strife 

Of the day is o'er; 
Round us the quiet shadows creep, and we sleep 

Forevermore. 

41 



Songs of Many Moods 



THEY ENDURE 

Keep apegging, partner, 

There 's a goal somewhere ahead, 
Try and build a superstructure 

That will stand when you are dead. 

Deal a little bit of kindness 

Out amongst your friends each day, 

That they will remember sometimes 
When they've laid your bones away. 

There's no monument like kindness, 

Granite cannot so endure; 
Grav'ed stone will perish sometime, 

But remembrance is sure. 

To a fellow sore and weary 
Kindness is like healing oil; 

If your friend is sick and ailing 
There's no tonic like a smile. 

Build yourself a monument 

Out of kind and thoughtful deeds; 
Much more lasting than the granite, 

And not overgrown with weeds. 



42 



Songs of Many Moods 



I ENVY NONE 

We sometimes hear men say, 'If I were him', 

How happy I would be always; 
Pleasure's bright sun would never burn dim 

On all my fleeting days, 
I would see nothing that is dark and grim, 
If I was him. 

They look upon the wealth of men 

As meeting all their soul's desires; 
Poor, narrow souls, give them great wealth and 
then 

Ask them if that is all their soul requires 
To gild the narrow confines of its den, 
And make them better than their fellow men. 

I envy none, however great they be; 

However vast their store of gem or gold, 
So I have health then life is good to me 

And what I have I honestly can hold ; 
I am my neighbor's equal, for he 
Is but a man, all men are born free. 

I'll still be happy though I'm never rich, 
By daily toil my daily bread I'll earn 

With brain or brawn, I care not why or which; 
And still my independent heart will spurn 

The man that thrusts his fellow in the ditch 

And steps upon him, simply to get rich. 



43 



Songs of Many Moods 



COMING AND GOING OF DAY 

Daybreak 

The night breeze passes softly o'er the reeds 
Leaving a farewell whisper in its wake; 

A night bird rises noisily from the weeds 

And wings its flight across the slumbering lake. 

A silver arm sweeps grandly out and throws 

Aside the threadbare cloak that night has worn; 

A glow of amber, and a gleam of rose, 
And the day is born. 

Nightfall 

The shadows in the wood grow dim and long; 

The lake reflects the glory of the sky; 
The bullfrog chorus chants its evening song; 

The soft wind lingers with reluctant sigh. 

The mellow radiance of the golden light 

Westward descends with the departing sun; 

A vagrant star peeps through the shades of night, 
And the day is done. 



44 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE SHADOWS 

As we sit by the fire when night appears, 

And the lights are turned low 
Dreaming our dreams of yesteryears 

Long, so long ago; 
There in the fitful shadows 

That are flitting to and fro 
We can see the dim, dear faces 

Of the friends we used to know. 

How dear to our hearts are these faces 

And the scenes that they recall ; 
While the hand of memory traces 

Its writing upon the wall, 
And our hearts are filled with yearning 

Held in the fleeting thrall, 
Though we know 'tis all a fantasy, 

Shadows, that is all. 

And we smile at the dying embers, 

And think of life's bright fires; 
How dear are joys one remembers 

Ere the last, faint spark expires. 
The ambitions that we cherished, 

The hopes, the loves, the desires, 
Which all in their turn have perished, 

And left us alone by our fires. 



45 



Songs of Many Moods 



We used to kick over the traces, 

And the old world turned too slow, 
But we smile to the dear old faces 

As they dim and dimmer grow, 
Drifting back into the shadows 

That are flitting to and fro 
Like the ghosts of our great ambitions 

That died so long ago. 

SPRING 

I want to sit in the sunshine 

And watch the clouds sail by, 
Like white winged ships agliding 

Out through the limitless sky, 

With their shadows creeping over me where I lie. 

I want to watch the little buds 

That burst on every tree, 
And I want to idle the day away 

Where the crystalline waters be, 

And the vagrant sunbeams are playing fast and 
free. 

I want, O! a hundred other things 

That I didn't want before, 
Since Spring has taken the year book up 

To turn its pages o'er, 

And her smiling lure take hold of me once more. 



46 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE ROBIN 

Harbinger of the Spring 

Bird of good cheer, 
While still the sleighbells ring 

You are here. 

'Mongst the bare trees you fly 

Letting us know- 
That we'll soon say goodby 

To frost and snow. 

Promising brighter day 
Sunshine and shower, 

Sunkissed streams and bays, 
Green leaf and flower. 

Orchards aflare with bloom 

Spoils for the bees, 
Air blent with sweet perfume 

From the fruit trees. 

Joy and music heard 

Pulsing from everything; 

Welcome to you, sweet bird, 
Herald of Spring. 



47 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE LITTLE VOICES 

The "Little Voices" whispered to my heart, 

The other day, 
They charmed me with their art 

But would not stay. 

And as they went away they smiled 

And bade me follow on 
To places far and wild, 

Forgotten lands — and lone. 

They went their way, but still 

Their call was vain; 
Some other day perhaps they will 

Return and plead again. 

Ah, "Little Voices", you have had your day, 

Yours is forbidden fruit; 
I cannot tread today the Sunset way 

And idly listen to your magic lute. 

For there are other voices I must hear, 

Not less joyful than your own, 
And I must turn a reluctant ear 

From your siren tone. 

So, Wanderlust, you'll call me still 

In vain, I cannot roam, 
I'll watch the dawn that bathes the distant hill 

In glory — from my home. 

48 



Songs of Many Moods 



A ROYAL ROMANCE 

When she was only seventeen, 

She dreamt of a prince in armor gay; 

A cavalier of royal mien, 

With the grandest retinue ever seen, 
Who would woo her some day. 

She dreamt of a marble palace fair 

Where she would live with her courtly squire, 
And she would have ladies-in-waiting there, 
And pleasures to banish each trifling care, 

And all that her heart could ever desire. 

Two years, and her prince had come to woo, 

Not clothed in royal purple fine, 
But clad in working overalls blue, 
But his words were sincere and his heart was true, 

So she answered 'Yes,' when he said 'Be mine'. 

Her palace is not built of marble white, 

And there are no ladies-in-waiting there; 
But the "queen" keeps it all so gay and bright 
That her "king" never wants to go out at night, 
And It's home, sweet home to a happy pair. 



49 



So7igs of Many Moods 



THE LOVELAND 

Come to the Loveland with me, dear, 

Where the roses are ever in bloom; 
Where life's sweetest melodies be, dear, 

Like the breath of a ling'ring perfume. 
There where all laughter and bliss is, 

There where life's bright sunshine plays, 
And with your smiles and your kisses 

There will I live always. 

In a Paradise land of our own, dear, 

Far from the world of care, 
Where only dream pleasures are known, dear, 

We will be happy there. 
There where all laughter and bliss is 

That only true love can impart, 
With your treasure of smiles and kisses 

There would I live, dear heart. 

ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS 

Old Time takes up the Book of Fame 
And backward o'er its pages turns; 

Then, pensive, pauses o'er a name, 
The name of Scotland's poet, Burns. 

'Tis writ in characters of gold 

That gleam untarnished in the light; 

His mem'ry never shall grow old 
Until day fails to follow night. 
50 



Songs of Many Moods 



And now today in every state 
And every corner of the earth, 

Men congregate to celebrate 
The anniversary of his birth. 

The poet who gave to humble toil 
A dignity it had not known; 

Himself a worker of the soil, 

His fame has world-wide grown. 

He clad the "crimson tipped flowers" 
In robes surpassing kings' array, 

He sang how all our varied hours 
The universal plan obey. 

He gave the cottars' lowly home 
A reverence for God, more great 

Than e'er is found in sculptured dome 
Or costly palaces of state. 

He sang the nobler themes of life, 

Of lands from chains and tyrants free; 

When peace would end all meaner strife, 
And "man to man would brothers be". 

His works shall live when classic lays 
Lie all forgot in mould'ring urns; 

And joy shall still ring in the days 
That hail the birth of Robert Burns. 



51 



Songs of Many Moods 



LIFE 

Some lives are like a summer day, 

The hours of which serenely drift away, 

Passing unheeded 'til the sunset hour 

Flings o'er the west its ling'ring, golden ray. 

For others, ere life's sun has risen high 
Dark clouds of sorrow lower in the sky, 

And when the quiet evening ends their day 
The weary lips form no regretful sigh. 

Some wander through life's dewy morn, 
And dream mongst roses newly born; 

And others grasping at the rose 
Seem able but to pluck the thorn. 

Why all the good? Why all the bad? 

Why are some joyful and some sad? 
Is not the world created so 

That everybody could be glad? 

Can joy not sweeten all our sorrow? 

Can gladsome hope not gild tomorrow? 
Has not the world a stock of good 

Enough for us to lend and borrow? 

We live, we love, we fight, we lie, 
We build, destroy, and ere we die 

We find a little time to learn 
A smile is better than a sigh. 
52 



Songs of Many Moods 



POLAND 

Land where the war-clouds are lowering 
And shedding their bloody mist; 

Where a stricken people are cowering 
From the blows of the mailed fist. 

Where hunger stalks like a spectre grim, 
Where ravished Peace has fled; 

And the candle of hope burns low and dim 
Over the silent dead. 

Where women and children fall by the way 

Crushed to the cold, damp sod 
By the feet of the beasts of prey 

Who are made in the image of God. 

Where the skeleton form creeps 

To stifle the lingering breath; 
Who laughs, while Poland weeps 

In her agony of death. 

Can the faith of a better day 

Live in the broken land? 
Hope lives, for the people pray, 

That the world may understand. 



53 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE CREED 

Why preach so many different creeds 

With varied paradise above, 
When all this sad old world needs 

Is just a universal love? 

For God is Love, and Love is good; 

O sophist with your theories new, 
The savage with his idols rude 

May have more hope of heaven than you. 

You hold your narrow creed alone; 

Self-worshipped god yourself, while he 
Bows down before his graven stone 

To worship what he cannot see. 

Why should he at the Judge's nod 

Be cast into eternal hell 
Because he never knew the God 

That you profess to serve so well? 

Nay. God is Love and Love is just, 

And surely Justice never can 
Condemn the weak, impassioned dust 

From which He formed His creature, Man. 

Your creeds and theories must be wrong 
You hold no key to Life's last door, 

For it were never worth a song 
With woe behind and hell before. 
54 



Songs of Many Moods 



We need no more the creeds you give 

Which so unsatisfactory prove, 
But give us rather while we live 

A lasting, universal love. 

LA FOLLETTE 

Your ear, Wisconsin! 
I would speak above oblivion's sod 
Ere you inter 'neath its forgetfulness 
The fallen greatness of the one 
Who was your erstwhile hero: 
Poets have sung his name, a few in praise, 
But many more in scorn, and I would sing 
Neither to praise nor blame, but as a passerby 
Conscious of both faults and qualities. 
Hear then, Wisconsin, but I charge you now 
To hold your peace, lest you disturb "His Great- 
ness," 
And his spirit rise to contradict your argument, 
Regardless of whichever way it take; 
This was a fault of his which you forgave him long 
But there's a limit, and he overstepped it when 
He ranked himself before his country's honor, 
Bringing the thunders of your anger on his head. 
Alas, Wisconsin, that you should have been 
An Alma Mater unto such a son! 
He was the pampered darling of your doting eyes, 
And so you chose him for the senate 
That he might serve you in the nation's counsels; 
His speech was smooth as a damascus blade, 
55 



Songs of Many Moods 



As polished and as keen, and rang as clear; 

His very name enthralled you with its sound, 

Yet he fell short of all your reckoning 

Not once, but many times, until you swore 

A better man should take his place. 

But ah, Wisconsin! Ah, the magic of its sound, 

'Twas not the man you chose, but La Follette, the 

name: 
And so again he stood where you had sworn 
That he should stand no more; 
And when his country's liberty 
Was rudely flouted by the Berlin buccaneer, 
He held his peace, while freemen 
Rose in their righteous anger to protest. 
O! crowning vanity! And he could think 
That he was greater than his country's greatness, 
And in his petty selfishness 
Stand passively observant while its honor 
Hung wavering upon the scales of Fate. 
Thus did Wisconsin see her favorite son 
Scorn the high ideals that her fathers fought 
And died for; ne'er again his name 
Shall hold for her the allure it held 
In days gone by, his greatness ends 
While others of her less renowned sons 
March forth to take their place 
At the ramparts of their country. 



56 



Songs of Many Moods 



TO "THE ETTRICK LINTIE" 
Ye'll pardon my presumption, for I write a wee bit 

praise, 
Having read your "Scottish Mother" a sketch o' 

hamely ways; 
That stirred a muckle yearning in a hairt that 's 

aye burning 
Wi' memories o' heather hills and glens across the 

the sea, 
An' mony bonnie scenes I'll lo'e until the day I dee. 

Your music wis auld farrant, and your sang to 

some wis strange, 
But to them wha aince have heard it the mither 

tongue can niver change, 
And the thochts that you awauken fly awa to heath 

and bracken, 
To the moors where rise the pairtrik, and where 

the black cock calls, 
Where the ivy clings sae bonnie to the hoary castle 

walls. 

I sometimes strike an antrim chord, but nae for 

mony a day 
Has the couthy mither-tongue conveyed my modest, 

faltering lay; 
But I heard the "Lintie's" sang in the forenicht 

sweet and lang, 
And it stirred my gangrel muse to re-echo back 

the strain 
To treest the "Ettrick Lintie" to her music aince 

again. 

57 



Songs of Many Moods 



ROBERT BURNS 

The spark of genius, fanned to flame, 
Glows brightly at the shrine of Fame. 
Where is engraved the immortal name 
Of Robert Burns. 

He sang not of the ways of kings, 
Nor soared on Fancy's fabled wings; 
But looked on Nature's plan of things 
And saw 'twas good. 

He saw the dawn flush o'er the sky; 
He heard the laverock sing on high; 
The humble daisy caught his eye 
And thrilled his soul. 

Until he found himself a part 
Of Nature's grand, supernal art 
And poured the feeling of his heart 
In tuneful song. 

And now when many years have sped 
We "heap the honors on his head'", 
Denied him 'til his soul had fled 
To more congenial spheres. 

He left a legacy of worth 

To all his "brothers of the earth", 

So mark the mem'ry of his birth, 

The Immortal Memory of Burns. 

58 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE SOUTAR 

It is na big, but neat and trig 

The soutar's shop 's aye keepit; 
The beets are fine placed a' in line 

And nae a' careless heapit; 
And aydent aye the soutar plies his hammer and his 

awl, 
And aye his wark is weel in hand' as nicht begins 
to fall. 

His tools laid by, he'll tak' his wye 

Doon by the winding Don; 
His cares forgot and deep in thought 

He'll slowly wander on; 
While in his mind he'll slowly form a pensive 

rhyme on Man, 
A theme o' suffering and sin since this auld warld 
began. 

Whyle Nature grand with high command 

Will fix his wondering mind, 
And wild and free her scenes he'll see, 

And inspiration find; 
And then his lay will aiblins charm some weary, 

jaded heart, 
Wi' thochts o' peaceful country scenes far frae the 
city's mart. 



59 



Songs of Many Moods 



To classic heichts he mak's not flichts 

But heartfelt and sincere, 
His lay he sings and aye it brings 

The peace o' Nature near. 
He kens the secret o' this life is jist to be content, 
And gin his sangs bring some ane joy he coonts the 
time weel spent. 

He has his dreams, by fitful gleams 

He sees the stormclouds' lining ; 
But day by day he works away 

Nor fretting nor repining; 
Content to ken his wark's weel done at setting o' 

the sun; 
Aye helpin' ithers on the road but asking help frae 
none. 

THE CROSS 

Here hangs the Cross, the cross I cannot kiss; 

But ponder why 'tis there ; 
The beads are pleasant hours, but this 

O'erwhelms me with despair. 
I backward count the beads, the happy past 

Returns again with thee; 
I count the beads until at last 

The cross returns to me. 
Thou'rt gone O Love! Forever, — yes, 

I bow beneath the greater loss, 
And calmly now my lips I press 

Unto the cross, My Cross. 
60 



Songs of Many Moods 



AN EVENING WALK 

The sun's last, mellow, golden rays 

Were ling'ring in the silent wood; 
The birdies sang their vesper lays, 

And Nature was in peaceful mood. 

Aroun' me lay a lovely scene — 

The valley, stretching far below 
Till distant mountain intervene, 

Their frowning crests still capped with snow. 

Abeen a whinclad slope, where 

A cairt-track winds rough and rude, 

The smoke coiled lazily in the air 

From where some lanely cottage stood. 

A burnie murmured softly near 

Somewhere amang the tall, gaunt pines, 

To me these pinewoods are mair dear 
Than a' the sooth's grape-laden vines. 

Society's hollow, polished art 

May mak' a strong appeal to some 
But Nature wild best charms the heart 

As a' her varying seasons come. 

Ah, the auld hame and auld freens 

Are better far than gowd or fame, 
To me the thochts o' these wild scenes 

Will aye be Memories o' Hame. 
61 



Songs of Many Moods 



THE EVENING STAR 

When the setting sun has flushed 

The western hills and sky, 
And the forest's voice is hushed, 
There appears, gleaming far 
O'er the mountains high, 

The Evening Star. 

Oft the cottar homeward wending 
Through the dusking twilight, 

Gazes at the star ascending, 

And admiringly will scan it, 

Pondering o'er the brilliant sight 
Of Venus — queenliest planet. 

Even the city worker weary 

Turning home with listless mien, 
From the streets so gray and dreary, 
Views the star with eager eyes, 
And some cheering thoughts may glean 
From this empress of the skies. 



62 



Songs of Many Moods 



SIGNS OF SPRING 

Though Brimmond's sides are bleak and bare, 
And Phebus seldom gies a stare 

Frae 'yont the clouds; 
There 's promise breathing in the air, 
And ilka bush has got its share 

O' green leaf buds. 

I wyte the mavis isna blate 

At whistlin' blythely to his mate 

Wi' amorous thrills; 
The sun has taen to ling'ring late 
Afore he gang his evening gait 

Ayont the hills. 

And summer wi' its humming bees 
And a' its daisy spangled leas, 

Will sune be here; 
When the soft flower-perfumed breeze 
Will gently sway the greenclad trees, 

It's drawing near. 

It winna jist be verry lang 
Afore we hear the lintie's sang 

Re-echoing frae the boughs; 
While in the summer nichts we'll gang 
And rove wi' lichtsome herts amang 

The bonnie wids and howes. 



63 



Songs of Many Moods 



APRIL 

The April sun is shining brightly 
On the river's trembling breast, 
And the fleecy clouds float lightly 
In an azure sky, that nightly 
Paints rich colors o'er the West. 

Slender daffodils are blowing 
In the soft caressing breeze, 
And shy violets are showing 
Where the limpid stream is flowing 
'Neath the dim shade of the trees. 

Through the woods the cushat's coo-ing 
Re-echoes all the bright day long, 
And the lintie with his woo-ing 
All the woodland is imbu-ing 
As he trills his merry song. 

From the fields there comes the singing 
Of the careless, happy herd; 
Woods and fields with music ringing 
Tell that April bright is bringing 
Happiness to man and bird. 



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